Pathetic
by shockin'blueeyes
Summary: 'You're really beautiful, you know' he said, and she laughed quietly. 'And you're cheesy' she replied, and he grinned, not bothering to reply. It felt somewhat strange, grinning freely again, after so much time without even the hint of a grin.


Written for the January monthly challenge in the Hogwarts Online forum, with the theme 'New beginning'

Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, as much as I want to.

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The morning sun entered through the curtains, and her long black hair fell around her head like an halo, the soft light gave her mocha skin a surreal glow. George looked at the sleeping woman beside him and slowly traced with his finger the line of her spine, lingering just above her hips and then retracing it back up again.

He didn't know how much time he'd been awake, but it hardly mattered. Time didn't matter right now.

'You're really beautiful, you know?' he said, and though her eyes were still closed, she laughed quietly.

'And you're cheesy' she replied, and he grinned, not bothering to reply.

It felt somewhat strange, grinning freely again, after so much time without even the hint of a grin.

Sure, he had coped with Fred loss's much better than expected, but that was just a façade, he had still cried himself to sleep every night for months, alone on their, _his_ flat, curled up in his bed clutching Fred's pillow. Pathetic, he knew, but he couldn't figure out what to do to keep going, now that he was gone.

It was so typical it'd made you laugh if it wasn't so tragic. Twins, practically joined at the hip, who kept no secrets from each other, lived together and had fulfilled their dream of owning a successful shop, and suddenly, bam! One of them dies in a battle, fighting for the freedom of the world he loves.

How very tragic.

How very cliché.

How very pathetic.

Those were the three words that had defined his life for almost six months. Tragic, because he was overflowed by the amount of regret and sorrow for Fred's death, cliché because it was just so typical that the one he cared the most, the only one that understood him, had to die, and pathetic because he every time he heard the name Fred in the street, or in the Wireless, he would turn around so fast his neck would crick and search frantically until he realised nobody would ever call his brother, because he had died, chucked it, snuffed it, shrivelled up, done in; he was pushing daisies, six feet under…

P-A-T-H-E-T-I-C.

'George?'

Angelina's voice shook him out of his reverie, and he smiled at her.

'Yeah?' he tried to sound nonchalant, but Angie raised an eyebrow at him.

'Why were you staring at the bedside table like you were unravelling the secrets of the most complicated thing on Earth?' she said, softly tracing his jaw with her fingers.

'It is indeed a very interesting table, Angie, if I must say'

'Yeah, right. Well' she craned her neck to look at the table on her side of the bed 'apart from its shocking red colour, I don't see what's interesting in it' she looked back at him, 'It's the same colour as your hair' she reached out and ruffled his already ruffled hair and leaned in for a kiss. When they broke apart, he grinned.

'And I'm the one who's cheesy?'

She scoffed.

'I'm a girl, I'm allowed to be cheesy'

He laughed, and yet again, was pulled into one of his deep train thoughts.

He had not laughed again until almost Christmas, when returning home from a trip down Diagon Alley to buy some owl treats for his new owl (who he had named, no surprise, Gred), when he had collided with someone and both of them had fell to the floor, on a heap of snow. He had been ready to give a curt apology and go home, when he realised the person that had fallen on him was Angelina, and it turned out he hadn't gone back home until late that night, after a delicious homemade dinner in Angelina's flat and a promise to meet up sometime next week (just to catch up, not like a date. Just two old friends with a common, ehem, dead friend, who wanted some company)

And the next week they set up another time to meet up again, and then the next week, and then it was two times a week, and then she started coming into the shop for lunch, and suddenly he started wondering if maybe it was okay to smile again, to live fully again.

And so on New Year's Eve, he had made a promise to himself (New Year's resolution? Not at all. He hadn't even noticed it was New Year's Eve. Fred had been always the most organised of the two), and decided to try and live fully again, with Angelina by his side. And to be honest, it had worked out wonderfully.

And there he was, two weeks later, lying on his bed, with Angelina snuggled on his side, and he was grinning like a fool and feeling happier than he had ever felt in his life, not even when Fred was alive (and that was a first)

'You know? I think I'm a little bit hungry' he said to Angelina, and she rolled on top of him, her long dark hair touching his chest.

'Hungry for what?' she whispered, and he opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment his stomach growled loudly.

Angelina broke off in laughing and rolled out of the bed, landing on the floor with a thud, and George started laughing too, perching over the edge of the bed to look at her. She was sprawled on the floor, sheets tangled around her and her hair sticking out at odd ends, eyes watering with mirth.

And on that cold January morning, with the sun coming from the window, completely naked and laughing his head off, listening to the sound of the laughter of the girl, that from now on, would plague his dreams, he couldn't help but think that Fred would've been proud of him.

For getting Angelina.

For laughing again.

For living again.

For his new beginning.

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